


Paper giant

by Evil_Keshi



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Related, Feelings Realization, Jon comes back to life, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 06:45:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Keshi/pseuds/Evil_Keshi
Summary: The red woman murmurs, chants and prays, prays and prays, while Tormund's heart hopes and breaks, one tiny shard at a time.





	Paper giant

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm currently rewatching GOT with my parents who are watching for the first time and we recently saw the episodes in which Jon dies then comes back. It was enough to create this little thing, that I hope you'll enjoy :)

  


It's a crow named Edd who finds him. Tormund has seen him before of course, he fought at Hardhome and survived, but he doesn't know him - not like he knows his little crow. Still, he noticed the close friendship that tied the both of them and if Jon trusts that man, then it's enough for Tormund. That's why he tells his men to grant the crow safe passage through the crowd that has gathered, uneasiness on the Free Folk's faces as men, women and children watch the black cloak advance toward Tormund.

As he approaches, Tormund feels his heart fall to the bottom of his stomach like a stone in a river: this Edd man looks sombre, even more so than crows usually do, and the redhead is filled with a bad feeling, looming doom, a sensation he thought he'd left North of the Wall. His heart understands before his brain does. _No_. It can't be.

Yet Tormund knows it's true before Edd even has the time to reach him and open his mouth: the redhead is already on him, towering over him and barking orders to gather a hundred solid warriors. It's useless, he's aware, because it's far, far too late.

"Who did it?" he growls in Edd's face.

"Our own brothers," comes the answer, pained and disgusted, "The Night's Watch."

"Because of us," Tormund says, and it's not a question but a statement, full of certainty.

"Yeah," Edd answers anyway.

Tormund casts him a sharp look but the crow's voice is empty of resentment or even judgement. Maybe he didn't like it but still he respects his Lord Commander's decision, even now that Jon... is gone.

So Tormund marches on the Wall. He didn't think he'd ever need to do it again: Jon saved them all from certain death and gave them lands South of the Wall, they weren't supposed to go North again - even though that's where his heart lies. Jon's already dead but it doesn't matter, he marches on the Wall with a hundred men and Wun Wun, who looked strangely sad when he heard the news of Jon's murder.

Tormund needs to see Jon's body for himself. He can't accept his death otherwise. He'll burn his little crow himself if he has to, to make sure that he will never see him return with bright blue eyes, which would be more painful than anything else. That's all the reason he needs to go back, helping Edd and whoever remained loyal to Jon isn't even his priority, neither is avenging Jon's death... Although it comes close to the top of his list.

Perhaps once he's burned him, he'll make time for killing all these fuckers. It's not a good idea, he knows, because he would bring the crows' anger upon his people - and Jon can't have died for nothing.

Jon helped him, helped them, and Tormund couldn't repay the favour. He's rarely known guilt in his life, unapologetic as he is of his actions, but this time he feels it, heavy in his chest, constricting in his throat. Jon died for them.

Tormund should have known it would happen. He should have stayed. He saw the looks the crows cast his people and he'd expected the hatred and the fear on their faces but he hadn't imagined that the same glares would be aimed at Jon. They had been, though. Really, Tormund should have seen it coming.

  


  


It only becomes real when he sees Jon's body. Before that, even as his men and he cornered the crows, he half-expected Jon to welcome him at Castle Black and ask with his signature smile, a barely-there curl of pouty lips, why he was coming with part of his army to the door of his new allies. _Came to steal me away?_ he imagines the little crow say, laughter in his eyes if not in the lines of his face - but it will never happen, now.

"Took a lot of knives," he whispers, his eyes set on Jon's lifeless body.

He resists the need to touch his face, to check for himself if there's really no breath that leaves his parted lips. He wants to lean down and murmur in the pretty crow's ear that he's slept long enough, that now's the time to rise. Tormund is suddenly reminded of other times, when he was chained and a prisoner, when Jon came to see him and asked whether he wanted to say a few words for Ygritte. He remembers telling him the dead can't hear.

He thinks he understands, now. Seeing his crow lie there, many words suddenly gather on the tip of his tongue and he would say them, he damn would, if the room wasn't so crowded. He remains silent. _Sorry I wasn't there_ , he wants to say, though he knows Jon wouldn't hear. It's stupid to speak to the dead and yet, he wishes he had a way to tell his little crow, even beyond the border of death, that he would have been there, if he'd been smarter.

It's a painful thought. Maybe his presence would have changed Jon's future, their future. Life's short North of the Wall so Tormund has never been one to hesitate and be in denial, he knows and has accepted that he likes the crow. Would have told him too, if Jon hadn't been so broody and delicate when it came to such matters. Maybe he should have told him anyway. At least Jon would have died knowing that someone still loved him. There are too many things Tormund hasn't done, hasn't said, and the result lies there, bloody and cold on a wooden table.

"I'll have my men gather wood for a fire," he suddenly says, "Body's to burn."

On that, at least, he won't fail Jon.

  


  


That's when the man who faintly smells like the sea has an idea. His name's Davos, if Tormund has heard right, and he speaks of miracles made possible by the woman in red. That some possess the ability to bring dead men back to life isn't surprising, he's seen far more incredible things happen North of the Wall, but... He's not sure he likes the idea. What if Jon comes back and his eyes aren't dark anymore?

The red witch doesn't look too assured either. She doesn't think she can do it. Tormund's half-tempted to tell her not to try anything if she can't foresee the outcome but the other half of him wants to get his little crow back and if there's the slightest chance, shouldn't they seize it?

He watches her with hawk eyes as she undresses Jon, revealing pale skin and red crescents, and gets him ready for the ritual given by her god. If Jon was conscious, he'd probably shriek and hide his chest. Tormund smiles, longing and sorrow merging together in his heart, and then he holds his breath.

The red woman murmurs, her hands hovering over Jon's skin, open with stab wounds; she chants and she prays but nothing happens. She glances helplessly at them, at Davos, apologies on her sculptured face, and Tormund briefly closes his eyes. Perhaps it's better this way. Better to remember what he was than risk finding out how feral a blue-eyed Jon could be.

The lady doesn't give up, though. Again and again, she prays, prays and prays, while Tormund's heart hopes and breaks over and over again, one tiny shard at a time, until there's nothing left to break. Enough, he thinks as he leaves when she stops, defeated, and he storms out of the room. He can't stand looking at Jon's corpse anymore. It's time to let go, allow the little crow the rest he deserves so, so much.

He stops in the corridor for a while, his breath coming out in short, pained puffs of air, anger suddenly rising inside him. Anger at the red woman and her sea friend who gave him false hopes and deceived him, fury at the men who murdered Jon. Maybe he'll kill them, after all, all these crows who thought they were better than a man saving lives.

With a snarl, Tormund punches the wall in front of him, once, twice, until he loses count, until his knuckles crack and the sting of his split skin helps him focus on something else than the tight pain in his chest. Enough.

  


  


Jon is dead, until he isn't anymore. Tormund watches him in silence as he stands, snow slowly falling onto his shoulders as he gets down the stairs. He needs Davos' support with each step he takes and he looks a bit lost, as if he hasn't quite figured out yet that he's alive, but Tormund doesn't think he's ever seen someone so strong.

The crowd parts for him and it's almost an evidence that Tormund steps forward to meet him. He can imagine what he looks like, awe plastered all over his face, but he guesses that Jon's own expression matches it quite well. He's alive and breathing, a surprise to the both of them, and Jon slowly realises why Tormund is there and not South of the Wall, understands that he came back, _for him_.

"They think you're some kind of god," Tormund tells the crow, "The man who returned from the dead."

"I'm not a god," Jon protests softly.

For a second, he looks scared that he might be or that he'll have to shoulder new, heavier expectations and responsibilities. The sad face isn't one Tormund wants to keep seeing on Jon.

"I know that," he assures his crow as he steps closer, keeping the laughter out of his voice, "I saw your pecker. What kind of god would have a pecker that small?"

It works. Jon smiles, looks at him with amusement in his eyes, and Tormund can't resist wrapping his arms around him, his relief finally coming out of him in the desperate tightness of his embrace. He's warm and his heart beats against Tormund's chest. He feels and hears Jon wince. Good. Dead men don't feel pain.

He lets go, lets Jon find his crow friend Edd. They'll have time later, he thinks, though not too much _later_. He vows not to waste time anymore, especially not when it comes to Jon: he's lost him once, he won't allow it to happen again. He needs to tell him everything that is in his heart, even if it's too early for his crow.

Tormund will tell him how much it hurt, seeing him lying there, his chest unmoving and his heart silent. How much he blamed himself for letting it happen, how raw he felt inside, brittle, his tall and large body useless to protect him from his own vulnerability. A giant made of paper, that's how he felt, like he was too easy to tear through - each second of the red woman's prayer that Jon didn't wake like a punch to the guts.

He won't expect anything from his crow, that wouldn't be fair - no more than remaining silent. Jon deserves some honesty in his life, his new life, and Tormund will be damned if he doesn't stay right there, by his side, for as long as his crow wants him to, whether he wants him as a friend or a lover.

Tormund glances at him, the dark, pretty crow who looks so small in the crowd of black and grey, yet so tough and mighty, and Jon meets his gaze, holds it, seemingly in a daze still. His eyes soon focus however, still set on Tormund, and there is warmth that grows in them the more he stares at him, as if reflecting the fire that burns inside Tormund. Life shines in his eyes, finally, and a hint of the smile that Tormund likes curls up his lips. He has to refrain from pulling his little crow into a tight hug again, relief crashing in waves upon his heart.

Jon is still with them.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading until the end, I hope you enjoyed the story! As always, all feedback is greatly appreciated ;)


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